


Jamestown, North Dakota

by agent_starbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, X-Files A Map of Us: 50 States of Sex Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck
Summary: Mulder comforts Scully with a surprise picnic under the stars after a particularly difficult case in North Dakota.





	Jamestown, North Dakota

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [agent_starbuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck) in the [A_Map_of_Us](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/A_Map_of_Us) collection. 



> My first challenge! This fic holds a special place in my heart because I used to spend my summers in ND. I had to do some research on Sioux indian folklore, so I hope it's accurate enough. Thanks to viceversawrites for beta'ing it and creating this challenge!

He's been at the Stutsman County Sheriff's Office since seven o'clock this morning, sifting through piles of evidence and paperwork and following up on leads that have gotten him nothing. Nowhere.

 

The dizzying flicker of overhead lights, along with the smell of old coffee and cigarettes, makes his head throb. He rubs incessantly at his temples with the pads of his fingers, willing the pain to subside.

 

He's not surprised that it doesn't.

 

He closes his eyes, wincing, as pictures of young girls' mutilated bodies burn into his retinas like a phosphorescent afterimage. He'll have to remember not to sleep tonight.

 

The familiar ring of his cell phone pierces through his frazzled brain, and he scrambles across the desk to grab it, spilling a cup of water on his lap in the process.

 

"Mul-- shit. Mulder," he answers as he dabs at the wet spot with an old napkin that had been hanging around since lunch earlier.

 

_"Mulder, are you ready to come get me? It's nearly nine o'clock. I feel like I've been at this for days, and I don't know if I can stomach another autopsy tonight."_

 

Guilt prickles at his conscience like a cold, jarring rain. He feels like such an ass. Here he was feeling sorry for himself because he was stuck examining those grisly photos strewn across his makeshift desk all day, when it was Scully who had to face the horrors up close and personal.

 

He doesn't know how she does it, case after case.

 

"Of course," he replies. "Lemme just wrap this up, and I'll be there in ten."

 

His egress is swift. He stops only to stuff folders into his briefcase and clean up his mess before grabbing his jacket, and pushing his way through heavy steel doors to freedom. A warm, gentle breeze greets him on the other side, seeping into his bones and calming his weary soul.

 

It's dusk, now.

 

Bands of colorful light stubbornly cling to the remnants of sunshine as they disappear behind the horizon-- caught in limbo between earth and sky-- waiting their turn to be swallowed by the darkness. Day and night locked in an endless battle for time and space.

 

The sky seems so much bigger in North Dakota. More so than any other state he's been to. Its awe-inspiring presence towers over everything, claiming dominion over the land and making anything tethered to the earth seem infinitesimally small.

 

That's why he likes it out here. Back home, people call him a weirdo for always staring at the heavens. Here, it's impossible not to.

 

Here, the heavens stare at you.

•••••

The radio station spits and crackles half a country song through the speakers before Scully reaches to turn it off with a sigh, bathing the car in empty silence. The cabin of the car vibrates as the tires beat a path through dusty, gravel backroads to their motel outside town.

 

They've had to wash the car three times since arriving here.

 

"You wanna eat at that truck stop diner before we reach the motel? The one with the really good curly fries?" He sends the question out into the void, his stomach growling for attention.

 

"No. I just want a hot bath and a bed."

 

He steals a glance in her direction. Her wistful gaze is fixed upon the slideshow flicker of moonlit prairieland streaming past her window. She seems upset. He thinks he knows why.

 

"Look, Scully… this case. I know it's hard. I know what you're going through."

 

"Do you, Mulder?" she quips. "Do you, really?" She's turned to look at him now, her pointed stare cutting through him like a stone-sharp arrow.

 

"I think so," he says hesitantly. "This is probably one of the worst cases we've been on."

 

"Yeah…" she scoffs then looks away, as if composing her thoughts, before continuing.

 

"I spent my entire day cutting open the corpses of young, innocent girls whose families may never get the privilege of knowing or understanding what happened to them," she starts, her voice straining against the overwhelming emotion bleeding through.

 

"I had to speak with the families-- mothers and fathers and elder tribal leaders-- to convince them I _needed_ to conduct these autopsies to find answers. That there was no other way," her voice begins to waver, and his stomach clinches at the sound of her holding back tears. "And I tried to do it with dignity, Mulder. I did."

 

He represses the urge to reach over and gather her small hand in his, unsure if now is the right time, if she'd at all be receptive to it. His fingers almost make the journey across the console before her voice startles them back.

 

"I fought this entire day with local law enforcement and coroners who treated these victims and their families like castaways. Who didn't think they warranted the kind of comprehensive investigation needed to solve this case because they lived on an indian reservation. Because they weren't white."

 

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he whispers, waging an internal struggle within himself, deciding whether or not to stop the car, to pull her into his arms, before ultimately choosing against it. They're almost at the motel. And he doesn't trust himself not to let things get too far.

 

"I had no idea you had to go through that today. If I'd known..."

 

"There wasn't anything that you could've done, Mulder," she says defeatedly. "I guess… I'm just tired. I really just want to go to bed and forget it."

 

He understands, he does. He wants the same. Except he can't face that empty motel room of his alone.

 

They pull into the parking lot and he kills the engine. The vibrations from their rough journey still linger throughout his body, his ears buzzing in the silence, and he waits.

 

"You, um, wanna come in-- over? To my room?" His voice is fraught with nervous anticipation-- a teenager asking his crush to prom.

 

"Mulder-- I… I don't think it's a good idea. We're on a case, and we decided to stay in our respective rooms. Remember?"

 

He remembers. His selective memory is just having a difficult time remembering _why_ he'd agreed to it. Especially now when all he wants to do is gather her in his arms and make her forget this day ever happened.

 

 _He_ wants to forget.

•••••

The heavy spray of water against his aching muscles feels glorious, and he breathes in steam and the cleansing smell of ivory soap-- his spirit born anew. It's amazing what a simple hot shower can accomplish. His bliss is short-lived, however, as his mind wanders to Scully on the other side of that wall, and he aches again. A different ache. One that can't be soothed by a shower.

 

Suddenly, he regrets that their last memories of North Dakota will forever be tainted by this case. He was hoping they'd find the time to get out and see the scenery. Maybe take a quick trip to the Badlands or at least see Jamestown's giant buffalo statue locals claim as the "World's Largest." He's never been able to resist a good tourist trap, much to Scully's dismay.

 

Somehow, he doesn't think dragging her out of her room at ten o'clock at night to see a jumbo concrete bison would bode well for him. But he _does_ have an idea.

 

He gets dressed and sneaks over to the 24-hour truck stop across the parking lot to gather some supplies.

•••••

"Mulder, where are we going again?" she huffs, and he can practically see the agitation rolling off her in waves.

 

"It's a surprise."

 

"You know how I feel about surprises."

 

"It's a good surprise, Scully, trust me," he reassures. They drive through silver seas of grassland as the lilting sway beckons them to their final destination-- the moonlight their Indian guide in the dark.

 

They exit the car and Mulder retrieves a large replica Souix blanket from the trunk ($14.99 well-spent) and a paper bag of various foodstuffs, along with a bottle of _S & R Truck Plaza's _ finest wine and two plastic cups.

 

"Where are we?"

 

"Near the Jamestown Reservoir," he replies. "I think."

 

If he listens close enough, he can hear the distant ripple of water, though it's too dark to see.

 

The ghost wind whispers around them atop the gentle plateau, carrying on its back legends and spirits, centuries old. He kicks off his shoes and feels the grass betwixt his toes. The earth beneath his feet feels ancient.

 

It's not the earth he's brought her here to see, however. It's the stars.

 

"It's so quiet out here. Peaceful," she says, staring off into the darkness. Her profile is stunning against the backdrop of night, the moon's radiance making her skin glow a ghastly pale blue, and he's not entirely sure she isn't a specter come to steal his heart away. She can have it, he thinks.

 

She already does. She's had it for years.

 

They pick a spot and he spreads the blanket over the ground, sitting down cross-legged and patting a spot in invitation next to him. She takes a seat and he uncorks the bottle, pouring them each a cup.

 

"So, what's the occasion?" she asks, her question framed by sips of wine.

 

He shrugs. "You had such a horrible day. We both did. I dunno, I just didn't want all our memories out here to be bad ones."

 

She looks up at him, smiles a dazzling smile that makes the stars pale in comparison-- makes his heart stop. If nothing else happens tonight, he considers himself the luckiest man alive.

 

"You're not trying to woo me, Agent Mulder? Are you?"

 

"I-- I might be trying to woo you," he stammers. "A little bit. Is it working?"  

 

She leans into him, snaking both her arms around his right arm in a warm embrace, as she lays her head on his shoulder, and his heart feels so full he can hardly stand it. How did he make it seven years without this?

 

"Well, I can't tell if it's the wine making me feel woozy or how good you smell, but something is definitely working."

 

He presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head and they sit in silence, night bugs singing their native songs as the stars dance in response.

 

Looking down at her, he watches her, watching the sky-- starlight reflected in her eyes-- and he never thought that _anything_ could manage to pull his attention from the grand celestial show playing out above them, but he's entirely wrong because this, _this_ is better than anything he's seen in his thirty-eight years of living.

 

"The stars are so bright here," she says. "I don't think I've ever seen the Milky Way this clearly before."

 

"Mmmhm." He finally tears his gaze from her and follows the direction of her eyes to the sky above.

 

"The Lakota Sioux call the Milky Way the Spirit Path. They believe all Lakota are related to stars. Lakota tradition states that every baby born is given a wanagi, which is sort of like a star's spirit."

 

She hums in response, her cool fingers trailing down his wrist to introduce themselves to his as he continues.

 

"When a Sioux member dies, the wanagi leaves their earthly body, and travels to the cup of the Big Dipper. The four stars that make up the cup then carry the wanagi to the Milky Way, where it travels along the spirit trail until it returns to another star."

 

"That's beautiful, Mulder," she says, and he glances down to see tears collecting at the edges of her eyes.

 

"Hey, hey… you okay?" he asks, turning to face her and capturing her cheeks in his palms.

 

"Yeah, I'm-- I'm fine, Mulder," she sniffs as a tear breaks loose and falls across her face. He swipes at it with his thumb. "I just couldn't help but think of those girls, you know?"

 

_Great. Way to kill the mood, Mulder._

 

"I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean--"

 

"No, it's okay. Really, I'm okay," she smiles, and pulls him in for a soft kiss. "This is perfect. Thank you for taking me here."

 

"Thanks for coming out here with me."

 

"Let's watch some stars, eh?" she says as she lies on her back, tugging at his arm until he follows suit.

 

He can't quite believe that they haven't done this before. Picnic under the stars.

 

After a few moments, Scully unexpectedly turns to capture his earlobe between her teeth, tearing a groan from his throat and sending a cascade of shivers down his spine.

 

"I thought we were watching stars?" he chuckles as she slides her perfect little lips along the rough column of his neck. His envious cock twitches against his pants in response.

 

"Mmmm, we are," she hums along the edge of his jaw. He turns and intercepts her mouth with his.

 

"I don't think this is how you watch stars, Scully," he mumbles against her lips.

 

"Isn't it?" she replies coyly.

 

"Nuh-uh," he croaks as her nimble fingers travel down his stomach to flirt at the edge of his waistband. "Definitely, definitely not."

 

"Show me," she croons into his ear. "Show me how to watch the stars."

•••••

His touch-starved body desperately seeks hers in the warm hush of night. He's so hard, he's aches. He always aches for her. The cradle of her thighs cushions his hips as he teases her silken entrance with the plush crown of himself. " _Mulder_ ," she breathes. " _Please_."

 

The whisper of his name against his lips fills him with a sense of wonder and possessiveness. He bristles with pride.

 

"Mine," he growls against her ear, curling his hips up into her as he teases her entrance, nipping at her jaw. He has the primal, animalistic urge to mark her. "You are mine."

 

"Mulder," she whimpers. "Oh, God. I _need_ you."  She digs crescent moons into the flesh of his ass until he can't take it anymore. Until he slides into the primordial slickness of her and witnesses the creation of the cosmos behind his eyes.

 

She's completely exposed to the sky-- her soft, effulgent body laid sacrificially against the woven blanket as he thrusts in and out, and the sight of it steals the breath from his lungs. He wants to weep at the altar of her. He is but a mortal being. She belongs amongst celestial spirits.

 

He bends to lick at the peak of a berry-red nipple, painting her skin in a constellation of tiny goosebumps, his tongue charting and mapping where it should go next. He craves the taste of her succulent skin.

 

"Christ, I can't get enough of you," he gasps against her collarbone. "You feel-- You feel so good."

 

He could spend eternity like this, wrapped around her body as they float through the stars. Two wayward spirits finding each other, melding into one.

 

"I'm close-- so close," she pants, and he can feel her trembling beneath him. His fingers find her slick, swollen nub and strike up a familiar rhythm, helping her along.

 

"Come for me, Scully." he pleads, the tendons in his neck straining as he teeters on the edge of his own release.

 

Breathy gasps escape her lips as her body quakes and thunders against the earth, and it's so beautiful, so powerful, that he swears the world around them stops to take note. She is a force of nature.

 

The piston pump of his hips turn erratic at the sight, and he can't hold back anymore. His orgasm roars through him as he spills hotly into her quivering sex, chanting her name like a vesper into the radiant night.

 

He kisses everywhere he can reach as her languorous body lies sweaty and spent beneath him. "You are perfect, you know that?"

 

"Mmm, so are you."

 

"No, I mean it. You. Are. Perfect," he punctuates each word with a kiss.

 

She blushes furiously and burrows her head into the crook of his shoulder. "I love you," she murmurs quietly, and the breath hitches in his chest at her heartbreakingly earnest confession.

 

She's never said that to him before.

 

"God, Scully get up here," he breathes, tugging her to him and kissing her passionately, reverently. "I love you, too. So, so much."

 

They spend the night under the stars, under that legendary North Dakota sky, and he forgets about the case, forgets about every little thing that's bad and wrong with the world, because Scully loves him. _She loves him._

 

And he loves her.

 


End file.
